


Regional Differences

by AvidReader3019, Colorfullyminded



Category: Gravity Falls, Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon & Comics)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bottom Dipper Pines, Dancing, Dipper Pines Popsicle Experience™, Dorks in Love, M/M, Top Wirt, lap dance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:01:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27418462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvidReader3019/pseuds/AvidReader3019, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colorfullyminded/pseuds/Colorfullyminded
Summary: Okay so you know how sometimes there's these regional differences that get to you? and sometimes your partner is a jerk and decides to be just the worst about it and you know you have to put a stop to this so you rope your brother because 'hey he's a dancer and he's been teased just as much' to break your partners to make sure they never make fun of you again? This'll be fun.
Relationships: Dipper Pines/Wirt (Over the Garden Wall), Pacifica Northwest/Mabel Pines (mentioned)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20
Collections: Over the Gravity Falls (After Dark)





	1. The First Step

**Author's Note:**

> So uh here I am sitting listening to music and California Gurls comes on and my dumb shipper brain goes you know who lives in California? and who would totally make fun of them for it? and hey what if Dipper could uh like got suuper into dance to help with anxiety? and also I just wanted to see him break his boyfriend. So then i say this on discord and you enabling heathens are the reason this exists I hope you're proud of yourselves and I'm so sorry this exists it's so stupid but here??

The past few days had been a living hell. See, autumn had just transitioned into winter and it would be the twins' first time spending some portion of the colder months with both of their significant others since they usually had winter classes or traveling or family things to attend to but this year they’d all been able to meet up. They all took off their various work schedules to meet up for a few weeks. Oregon is cold in the winter, and while Wirt and Pacifica are both very familiar with the below freezing temperatures, Dipper and Mabel had lived their entire lives in temperate California and don’t handle the cold very well. They bundle up even when the air is still in double digits, prefer sitting around a fireplace when possible, and make hot drinks more often than cold ones. Pacifica was of course the first one to start the teasing. 

They’d gone for a walk one morning and Mabel had grabbed at least 3 sweaters plus hot cocoa before walking out the door. Dipper was similar in flannel under a hoodie with a jacket on top only he grabbed coffee instead. It has just about the same amount of sugar as Mabel’s drink, but also nearly 50 times the amount of caffeine. Pacifica and Wirt, however, threw on a hoodie and sweater, respectively, and Wirt had tea, but he’d have that even in the sweltering heat of summer.

They hadn’t gotten very far along the trail before Paz decided to chime in. “Mabel can you even breathe under all of that?”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I’m gonna start sweating just looking at all those layers. Are you sick or something?” She dramatically put her hand over Mabel’s forehead and shot a skeptical glare Dipper’s way. “And you too! Jeez I swear if either of you make us spend the entire time indoors recovering because you’re too stubborn to just go to the doctor.” 

She pushed the hand away catching onto the implication, but not wanting to give Paz the satisfaction of an admission right away. “No, I’m not sick, but it’s cold.”

Pacifica laughs and gestures to the flowing stream. “This isn’t anything! It’s not even frozen yet! Just wait until a month or two from now then it’ll actually get cold.”

Wirt decided to join in at that point. “Yeah, she’s got a point. Are you sure you’re okay?” He clearly wasn’t in on the joke and started looking Dipper over for any signs of a fever. “I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

Dipper rolled his eyes and took a sip of the diabetic nightmare coffee. “She’s just being an ass, Wirt, don’t listen to her.”

Paz threw a hand over her chest and gasped. “I’m hurt!”

“No you’re not.”

“You’re right I’m not, but the point is you’re wimps.”

They both shift uncomfortably, but, surprisingly, Dipper is the one to respond. “We just aren’t used to it. It’s not a big deal or anything.”

“No but it is hilarious. What, you can fight monsters but you can’t last five minutes if the weather is under sixty degrees?”

Wirt laughs and tries to cover it up with a cough at Dipper’s scathing glare. “Well I just- I mean- When she puts it like that- Come on, it’s pretty funny.”

“Traitor!”

“Betrayal!”

Both of them are incredulous and shouting while Wirt and Pacifica are just giggling at their antics. 

“That’s fine we’ll show you! Our warmer tendencies will be useful someday and you’ll regret this!”

They ended up not regretting it and made more and more jokes as time went on. Every pair of gloves scrutinized, every jacket viewed with a smirk, and the worst was the fake accents. Why the valley girl thing even came up they’d never know. They didn’t sound like that! But it got a rise out of them and so it became common, but eventually they’d had enough and formulated a plan. 

They’d been sitting on the couch, Mabel knitting and Dipper going through stretches, finally having some time alone while the others went shopping. The twins had had yet another argument that morning when Dipper was pacing around the house with a nervous energy he only got when he hadn’t been able to dance for a while. 

He’d taken it on as a hobby years ago, suggested by their parents with the promise of keeping it hidden if he didn’t want anyone to know, as an outlet for his nervous energy. He’d found that the anxiety and swirling thoughts calmed while he focused on the steps and pieces of a routine. Learning it, practicing it, and even doing the stretches helped him noticeably calm down on a more regular basis. So, he’d just.. kept doing it. 

Mabel would join him every once in a while if something required a partner and he really wanted to figure it out, but she was more into “fun” dancing than the practiced routine Dipper fell in love with. They’d kept it between them and no one had ever found out, but Mabel kept mentioning little things every once in a while about telling Wirt and completely ignoring Dipper's protests.

The problem being that the more Wirt hung around, the more nights he stayed over, and now living in the same space for a few weeks meant he couldn’t do his hobby and the nerves were starting to get to him. Thankfully, Mabel announced a need for some baking things and sent the two on their way with an impressively long list, giving Dipper enough time to at least do a couple things before they got back. Yeah, he owed her _big time_.

Her real reason was to convince him to tell his boyfriend. They were the same arguments he’d heard before about “he would never make fun of you, not for real, not about something like this!” and “who knows maybe he’ll think it’s cool!” _Yeah, right. As if anyone thought dancing was anything short of the dorkiest waste of time to ever grace the planet. Nope, he’d rather Wirt continue to think of him as an adventuring badass, thank you very much._

Dipper had put on some Pop station, like always, when a certain song they’d forgotten existed came on. Mabel got a bright look in her eye and Dipper shut her down immediately. “No Mabel absolutely not. Not even for this, no.”

“But Dipper! They’ve gotta stop teasing us, this is our shot!”

He didn’t miss a beat sliding down until he’s doing the splits. “I’m not risking telling him! And especially not like this!”

Mabel set down her knitting to think for a minute to come up with a plan he wouldn’t be able to turn down. “Okay, so your problem is you’re not sure how he’ll feel about it, right?”

He brought his legs back in from the splits position, sitting up on his knees. “Right.”

“Well, this is perfect then! We can do a fun, stupid dance thing; like any dumb people trying to get back at their partners, and he’ll never even know you do this regularly! I’ll take the fall. I can say it was all my idea and I roped you into doing it and if you’re any good then it’s natural talent, nothing he needs to read into.”

He sighed heavily before moving on to the next exercise, slowly bending backwards until his head was hovering above the floor. “Mabel I don’t have any talent.”

“Dip you’re usually very smart, but you’re currently bent into a position that it’s hurting my back just to look at, so incorrect. But regardless, this is a win-win situation! We get back at them by showing them exactly what we can do and you get your answer about what Wirt thinks about you dancing. If he calls it lame even as a joke, I don’t think he will, but if he does you’ll at least know and I can beat the ever living daylights out of him.”

Dipper chewed on his lip and came back up, considering. “And if he asks... This was 100% your plan and I was sadly pulled along with blackmail or something, right?”

“Cross my heart.”

He nods. “Okay.”

Two days later, nights spent sneaking away to create and perfect the routine, they're ready.

* * *

"Mabel are you sure about this?" 

She pauses letting go of his arm. "Of course I'm sure! If you think I'm going to let you out there without glitter on you must not know me very well." She grabs his arm back up rubbing the substance on, liberally.

Dipper bites down on his bottom lip. "No, not the glitter. Mabel that's fine- Wait no not fine, but not as bad as- I meant this whole thing!" He yanks his arm away as soon as she finishes and tries to straighten the shorts once again, but they're still not exactly long enough to be straightened.

Mabel's face is reminiscent of what he imagines Roman generals looked like before a battle. "Do you remember what they said? Do you remember the laughing, the mockery! Are you going to let them get away with that?"

"It was just for fun. You know they didn't mean anything by it! Besides, we haven't even lived in California in years now. I'm just not sure it's worth it."

She takes out the makeup bag and grabs her brother's face with the grip of someone who you'd think did this professionally. "Well, it'll be fun, regardless."

"Mabel I don't think massive embarrassment and spending the next decade finding glitter in places it definitely shouldn't be is my idea of fun."

She makes finger guns at him, barely refraining from dropping everything in her hands. "But it's definitely no different from your normal."

"Mabee~l"

She continues and his face is starting to hurt, already. "I'm just kidding, but Dipper you seriously you can't tell me you aren't looking forward to the looks on their faces."

He shrugs. "Yes, no, maybe?" He folds his hands into his lap and locks his gaze on the floor. "I guess I just don't- He's never seen me do anything like this. I don't want him to think I'm stupid."

Mabel frowns. "No one could ever think you're stupid Dippin' Dots. You're the smartest person he knows! Now hold still." He looks up and tries not to flinch as she draws the eyeliner dangerously close to his eye. 

"I hope you're right..."

She is silent for a few moments, something Dipper is thankful for considering how close the ink is to his eyeball and how little he desires to be blinded by this stupid plan.

"I'm always right! Now let's go show 'em why you don't screw with 100% pure California ass."

He nods, taking a deep breath. "Okay, alright. You're right. What's the worst it could do?" He smiles with a confidence he doesn't feel as she steps back admiring her work.

"That's the spirit!" She'd already finished her own face earlier, so they head into the living room. 

The way they planned it, Wirt and Paz should be sitting in there picking a movie to watch. The telltale sound of arguing confirmed it and they strode into the room without so much as a word. 

If Dipper wasn't so nervous he would have laughed at how abruptly their arguing silenced. His gaze is focused unwaveringly on the floor when he walks in, but Mabel squeezes his hand and he gathers the courage to lift his eyes. He isn't disappointed. 

Both are staring at their significant others dumbfounded, eyes wider then he's ever seen them, and their jaws are dropped. He's sure he's never seen Paz's calm exterior be so far gone, but he can't even focus on that long enough to use it for blackmail because he catches Wirt's eye.

Those eyes are glued to Dipper's form, clinging just as tightly as the shorts. However, he seems to quickly realize that he's staring, catches himself, and starts to look at the ceiling with feigned interest as scarlet stretches from his neck to the tips of his ears. He clears his throat and brings a hand up to pull on his sweater.

That reaction is all it takes for Dipper's fears to completely evaporate. His apprehensive demeanor is replaced by smug confidence and he focuses Wirt with an intense, unyielding gaze. He lets his intent show in a grin and takes his sister's hand as she pushes the play button on a speaker they'd set up beforehand. They spent the past couple nights tirelessly rehearsing for this moment and he'd be damned if they didn't break the two people in front of them.

* * *

Wirt woke up that morning to a pretty standard text of “hey could you find a movie to watch? Me and Mabel will be there in a sec.” and immediately obliged. Paz is there before him and nothing seems unusual, he doesn't question anything, and they easily fall into their routine of fighting over what to watch when _he_ comes in. 

Sure, Wirt is vaguely aware that Mabel enters the room as well, if Pacifica’s stunned silence is any indication, but that doesn’t matter because the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen just waltzed in and he drops about 10 DVDs as his jaw decides to detach from his skull. 

It’s Dipper, but also it’s _not_. 

This is not his ruffled, adorable, mess of a boyfriend. This, this _being_ is not comparable to the late night ramblings, oversized coffee stained t-shirts, ink covered pages, and mounds of blankets that characterize _his_ Dipper. 

This is something he’s never seen. 

This creature oozes grace and, for lack of a better term, appeal. The moisture leaves Wirt’s mouth in a second and he tries to look away, but his breath catches when his eyes somehow find miles of leg on someone who doesn’t have enough height to constitute the term and _fuck_. When he twists the other direction, looking for something, Wirt swears those shorts are designed by the gods themselves to render a self-proclaimed wordsmith completely speechless.

He’d drop to his knees in an instant if he could manage any sort of movement.

His Dipper is desirable of course, in every conceivable way, but it’s because of who he is, because of the talks and the adventures and his enthusiasm and the dedication he pours into every little aspect.

This, however... 

This is pure, concentrated desire. This is what Eros wishes he could emulate. This is why sailors threw themselves upon the rocks just to get a fleeting glimpse of a creature like this. 

He can clearly see every curve along with nearly every inch of skin deliberately put on display, confidently, shamelessly. It’s glistening with ethereal light and Wirt would be doing a disservice to its power by simply calling it “glitter”. No, this- he’s- He doesn’t even know if this is a gift or a punishment and the dissonance is starting to make him dizzy.

He assumes it’s a gift at first, but after returning his gaze to the seraph (for that‘s the only word that could possibly _approximate_ this creature) he gets a grin that takes the strength out of his knees and has to place a hand on the couch behind him to steady himself. The grin is self assured, smug, 100% aware of how good it looks, and clearly plans to use it as a weapon. Definitely a punishment then. Fine, then he looks forward to being burned.

He watches, enraptured as the music starts and both of them start moving with a sureness and fluidity he hadn’t known existed. It takes him a second to be lucid enough to briefly recognize the song and realize _Ah so that’s what this is about._

He barely finishes the thought before Dipper pulls off a downright sinful move with his hips that has Wirt’s thoughts back to nothing but a burning haze.

How had he never noticed? Dipper’s physique has always been something he appreciates immensely and often, but it isn’t until this moment that something in his mind clicks as he realizes it’s the physique of a dancer. Unmatched flexibility. All careful control and precise movement. 

This was clearly practiced with a purpose in mind and that purpose seems to be to render him and his comrade useless for the rest of the day. It’s a truly stunning thing to witness. 

He’s being injected with a need to touch while simultaneously being told very clearly that he’s not allowed to. Their movements signal a kind of superiority that is for people to see and go home crying to themselves about their inadequacy in the face of something they can’t even hope to enter the same dimension as. Even the most stubborn and contrary would have to admit defeat.

They move quicker than his eyes can follow at times, but certain movements are slowed down for emphasis. A hand dragging from heel to ass of course has to take as long as time will allow, while a spin or wrap around movement takes less than a blink.. Actually on second thought, they don’t submit to something petty like time. They slow it down and speed it up at will, that’s the only way any of this is possible.

He's still contemplating the potential life-alerting implications of the kind of things they're doing to the laws of space-time when Dipper just breaks away from the routine. The only way Wirt can tell anything is different is the half second of confusion that flits across Mabel's face before she regains her composure. 

Dipper must have sensed Wirt's temporary lapse in attention and found it downright insulting because the look he's giving is incinerating him. Wirt is suddenly completely at the mercy of this creature designed to attract attention and burn it's playthings beyond recognition. 

“Sun-kissed skin

So hot

We'll melt your popsicle”

The lyrics pierce through the infinitesimal space between them. They've come up multiple times already, but this time, Dipper is right in front of him. He's helpless to do anything but watch as Dipper flicks his eyes downward, hollows his cheeks and winks with an unmistakable promise of " _Maybe later if you fucking pay attention_ " He gyrates his hips before strutting back to Mabel's side, not missing a single beat.

Well, message received loud and clear. Not only are popsicles to be envied above all else in the world, but if he behaves, he may have a shot of becoming one later.

If only he knew what exactly "behaving" meant in this situation.

He defaults to simple logical thinking since it's the best he can come up with in the moment. His brain is on a backup generator of "essentials only" but it's cracked a little and only half the emergency lights even work. Dipper clearly wants him to watch more closely, that much is clear. He'll just start with that and adjust on the fly. 

_Adjust on the fly._ What has he become? A couple minutes and Wirt has been reduced from articulate poet to an ERROR 404 message. And even that is nothing compared to the most alarming detail: he isn't sure he really minds the change all that much and there isn’t any iris left in his eye by the second verse of the song.

* * *

Dipper is screaming internally. He’d tried to give in to the music, do the routine 

mindlessly, and just get this over with so he can go grab several layers of clothing. (That’s part of what started this in the first place he gets cold and Wirt had the gall to make fun of him for it) 

The initial confidence was nice, really, but that would only be enough to get him through this without chickening out or messing up the steps. Ideally, he’d like to not really leave an impression, and never mention this again in the future.

But then, it shifts. There he is doing this stupid, dumb, ridiculously embarrassing thing to prove a point because hey Mabel said it would be fine what could possibly go wrong? And _Wirt isn’t looking at him._

He doesn’t even have a word for the emotion that consumes him, but he knows it’s only approximate to walking in on your lover flirting with someone else. Only the someone else in question wasn’t even justifiable since it seems to be the fucking _ceiling_.

The rational side of his brain tries to point out that Wirt is probably embarrassed or maybe he’s trying to figure out how to let him down easy later about how stupid he thinks this whole thing is, but then the irrational side chimes in with a “maybe he just isn’t interested” and he can’t exactly argue with that. He also knows that he never understood the phrase ‘seeing red’ until this moment.

His entire posture shifts. In a fluid second he becomes an entirely different being. Dipper Pines is gone in a moment, useless for what he wants _needs_ to do. He looks more like one of the supernatural creatures he loves to study than anything resembling human. One of the dangerous ones. Creatures that win not because they have the biggest claws, but because they make you walk into their trap of your own volition. 

Every inch, every molecule, every movement screams **predatory** and his gaze can melt steel. He keeps whatever this burning emotion is at the forefront of his thoughts and tries to come up with something to make Wirt not only refocus his attention, no, that’s not enough now. He needs to _beg_ to be allowed to so much as gaze upon him and the song provides the perfect opportunity.

Contrary to popular belief, his boyfriend isn’t a saint. He’s caught Wirt staring every once in a while when he gets a lollipop or when he’s chewing on one of his pens. His eyes follow the movements of his lips like his life depends on it without him even realizing. Dipper had tied a cherry stem with his tongue at a party not long after they’d met and Wirt had to leave the room, face turning scarlet as he fled. Dipper knows exactly what to use against him and he does without mercy or consideration.

The wink seems to seal the deal exactly as planned because Wirt’s eyes are screaming total devotion and _that’s more like it_. Dipper gives him another once over just to make sure he’s gotten the message and joins Mabel back on the other side of the room filled with smug satisfaction.

“You could travel the world

But nothing comes close

To the golden coast

Once you party with us

You'll be falling in love”

_Yeah damn right you will_ . Wirt’s _oh goodness_ Dipper’s almost worried about him. He nearly trips on the next step as he giggles. Mabel is missing a few steps as well, watching Paz in a state that’s not _quite_ where Wirt is at, but she’s close enough. Difference being, Paz is looking ready to drag his sister out of the room and his thoughts are very strictly a STOP sign for a moment but Wirt is more-- he’s just-- oh that adorable face is _broken_. Dipper can’t even focus on the dance. Him and Mabel share one look to decide to just stop now; they’re near the end anyways and the mission has been accomplished and yeah he doesn’t wanna see what happens if they don’t stop quickly enough and someone decides to do something to scar someone else, so he moves over to shut the music off.

As soon as he does, the two in front of them look up expectantly and he’s suddenly flustered, not wearing not enough and the music, his safety net, always a comfort, is now gone. He moves to stand slightly behind Mabel.

“So uh I um, yeah. Don’t fuck with California anymore.”

Mabel snorts at his stuttering. “Yeah what Dipper said, now if you’ll excuse us...” She grabs Pacifica’s arm and rushes out of the room, leaving the couple alone.

Dipper releases the tension with a roll of his shoulders. Now that it’s over, he’s cold and very aware of the winter air on his skin. _Did someone leave a window open?_ He shrugs on a hoodie draped over a nearby chair. He’s unable to meet Wirt’s eyes so he fiddles with the drawstrings instead. 

Silence swells and he tries to ignore it, taking the time to wipe some of the glittery sweat off his face and onto the sleeves. “I um.” Nope that seemed to be a bad plan. Talking? Yeah no not after whatever the hell that just was, nope.

Dipper grabs a few stray pieces of mail off a table and moves to throw them away. “Listen.” He cringes at the sound of his own voice and is thrust into the silence again. 

It’s unbearable. Wirt still hasn’t left. He hasn’t even moved from the couch, hands still full of the fabric in a white knuckle grip. 

Dipper tries to pretend like he isn’t there until he hears Wirt mumble something that sounds vaguely like ”fuck it” under his breath and turns to find him a hair’s breadth from his back. 

His gaze is piercing and clouded with desire. Normally stormy grey eyes only appear to be black now. All the careful articulation and sparkling lost in favor of lust. His breathing is heavy and he looms over Dipper in a way that suddenly reminds him of just how much taller the guy actually is. There’s gotta he at least a foot or more, but he doesn’t usually notice it. Not when Wirt is always slightly hunched over on himself or draped around Dipper or sitting or leaning against something but he never draws up to full height like this.

Dipper swallows, or tries to, finding that his mouth is too dry to even perform the necessary action. “Uh.” He clears his throat and fails to speak clearly, a slight wobble entering his voice despite his best efforts. “Um W-what’s going o-on?”

Wirt spends an eternity clearly trying to think of something but all he comes up with is “I- I need you.”

“Well it’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

He shakes his head. “No that’s not- that’s not what I mean I- I need you, Dipper.” 

He pauses to run one hand through his hair before shifting course and using both to grab Dipper and pull him closer by his belt loops. His head comes down to brush against Dipper’s ear and he can feel the man trembling against him with barely restrained emotion. “I need to touch you. To feel you come apart under my hands. I need everything you just did but only for me this time, only us. At least allow me that?” A note of desperation enters his voice like Dipper’s never heard and he nods unthinkingly.

Dipper goes over to turn the music on but Wirt stops him with a soft brush over his wrist, not grabbing, just hovering, barely touching the skin. 

He speaks in a low whisper that when combined with soft not quite touches, causes a shiver to run down Dipper’s spine. 

“I don’t recall there being a hoodie last time, darling.”

Dipper feels his cheeks heat and starts stuttering before stopping, moving to to yank the hoodie to get the damn thing off as quick as possible, but Wirt stops him once again. Dipper raises his eyebrows but doesn’t dare interrupt.

Those hands weave their way downward to meet his own. Long musicians' fingers drift their way over to lightly grasp the fabric. “Let me.”

Dipper nods and raises his arms above his head as Wirt starts to inch the fabric upwards by millimeters. When it’s halfway up, he stops to press a soft but passionate kiss just below Dipper’s bellybutton that leaves him breathless. 

He continues without even a pause to acknowledge the dizziness Dipper is experiencing, stopping to kiss and caress all the way up, until they get to the point where the hoodie will have to go over his head. Wirt frowns as if the instant of time he’ll be separated is too much to handle and that alone has Dipper entranced. He’s never been like this before.

Wirt contemplates the top of the hoodie for a moment before his eyes brighten with an idea and he slides the collar aside, replacing the fabric with his lips. 

He proceeds to press loud, wet, openmouthed kisses up Dipper’s collarbone and neck, eliciting a full body shudder and delicious noises from the other man that he can’t seem to completely muffle, try though he might.

Wirt finally gets the covering off and presses closer, hands roaming absentmindedly over the tightly coiled abdominal muscles that had been integral to the mind boggling inhuman dance from earlier. 

Just thinking about those movements has Wirt shifting forward in search of friction, but his efforts are only met with more distance as Dipper steps away. He makes a slightly pained noise and looks down at the smaller brunet questioningly. 

Dipper stifles his gut reaction to seeing Wirt’s face smeared in glitter from the heated kisses. He clears his throat and manages to shake his head, trying for a nonchalant expression, but his blown pupils and the transparency provided by the tight shorts ruin the intended effect. 

“Not yet. I thought you wanted a _private_ dance? You said _everything_ I just did, so uh.” He licks his lips slowly and presses both hands lightly to Wirt’s chest pushing him back until his knees hit the couch. “Can’t exactly do that while you’re latched onto my neck, so _sit down_ .” He shoves him downward with a little more force than necessary, or perhaps it’s just the complete lack of resistance making it seem that way. “Be _patient_.” He lingers on every syllable for as long as time will allow.


	2. Second Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wirt wanted a second dance and Dipper gives him a bit more than he bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new challenger appears!

If Wirt thought the last dance was unreal, this is making him question the very nature of reality. His sudden confidence and bravado is shattered at Dipper’s movements: fluid and completely sensual. Where the last dance was choreographed and performed with a purpose, this one is filled with raw emotion and-- still _purpose,_ still obvious practice and technique-- but it’s less about proving a point and more about seeing just how far Dipper can get him without a single touch. 

Dipper sways his hips back and forth, like a pendulum, lowering ever so slowly until he’s balancing on the balls of his feet, knees spread to make a perfect “v” shape. Perfectly balanced, perfectly in tempo with the music. And just as quickly as he dropped down, he bends and snaps right back up.

_Spoiler alert: pretty fucking far_. Wirt knows two things immediately. 

One: he’s fucked, Dipper knows he’s fucked, and he almost wishes he hadn’t come at all rather than be in the embarrassing position he’s currently in, requiring him to keep shifting near constantly. 

Two: somehow, and he doesn’t know how it’s possible, it’s an outcome he couldn’t have possibly anticipated, but Dipper was _holding back_ earlier. 

The motions he’s going through now are clearly ones meant for the intimacy of being alone in a dimly lit room, and Wirt is hit with a sudden rush of pride at knowing that he’s the only person alive who’s ever gotten to see him like this. 

Dipper has always been someone Wirt admires for the way he unabashedly pours every piece of himself into his passions, but he still keeps some cards close to his chest. In public he acts a lot different than the unrestricted vibrant personality he displays when only around friends, but dancing like this…

They’d shared so much together over the years. Dumb poetry in the middle of the night, their favorite stupid pop songs, and a weird shared love for cute knick knacks, but Dipper had kept _this_ carefully under wraps. 

Wirt would have been disappointed at him feeling the need to keep this secret if the idea of being able to _finally_ see Dipper like this didn’t bring him a dizzying rush of satisfaction. The way Dipper keeps flicking his eyes down, the occasional chewing on his bottom lip, the way the flush covering his features is a touch darker than would be gained by physical exertion alone. Especially when he’s so good Wirt knows he has to be practicing on a regular basis.

No one just bends their-- _oh my god how in the hell? I didn’t know someone could bend that far without snapping in half._

That’s it, Wirt has decided Dipper’s body isn’t made of mundane things like bone and muscle, not anything that would compose a flimsy human form. He’s made of only the most malleable things like water and starlight. He’s glistening like the latter with the copious amounts of glitter, and Wirt will have to personally deliver a new basket of yarn and a bouquet of the best roses he can find to thank Mabel for this later. He knew it had to be her idea, and it’s possibly the greatest one she’s ever had. Right up there with shoving him and Dipper, a complete stranger at the time, into a room and telling them to “talk nerd stuff” until she came back. They’d been inseparable ever since.

Wirt also comes to the realization that he now knows what Dipper does while he’s gone. He’d had a sneaking suspicion that Dipper might have spent time doing something uh _interesting_ whenever he’d leave to grab things, because he’d always return to find his boyfriend slightly breathless and exhausted, but he hadn’t thought- well now he’s embarrassed about what he thought, but the idea of _Dipper Pines_ dancing had never crossed his mind.

* * *

Dipper is a being composed of 50% fear, 50% anxiety, and 100% dedication to letting Wirt see exactly _none of that,_ replaced with only the most cool and confident of displays. He’s never done anything like this before. The type of dance he eventually settled on years ago leans more towards gymnastics than your typical upbeat type “fun” dancing, which is proving useful if Wirt’s jaw dropping is any indication, but he’s never _performed_ before. He had a couple of things in various classes he’d taken, but that focused on demonstrating a skill. It wasn’t emotional like this, and definitely not with the purpose of _seduction_.

Wirt, to his credit, is nothing short of adorable right now, which he knows that's a crazy adjective to apply to someone whose eyes are blown with lust, but he can’t help it. Dipper can do the most basic of maneuvers, lacking any creativity or technical skill, and even then Wirt looks starstruck at anything involving some sort of demonstration of flexibility. He doesn’t know if it’s because it’s him, or if Wirt has never seen anyone with an ounce of talent before, but the looks and sounds and the clear effort it’s taking him to sit still have Dipper wanting to do this more often. 

He runs a hand from his chest to his abdomen, fingers playfully dancing across his skin--the way Wirt tends to dance his fingers across Dipper’s back, absentmindedly. Wirt might not notice he’s doing it, but Dipper certainly does, and he uses it to his advantage; turning an innocent touch into something charged. _Just like_ _a humorous joke turns into dirty dancing_. 

Like fingering the keys on a clarinet, or a sousaphone, he teases his own skin, all the while hips thrusting. The glitter highlights the dips and curvatures of his muscles, so the poet’s eyes never stray. Dipper tangles his other hand through his kinky locks, eyes falling to half mast--he’s just as captivated by the audience, as the audience is with him. Wirt makes a low noise in the back of his throat, too quiet to hear over the music. So Dipper thumbs the belt loop of his shorts and tugs, exposing more of his v line. This time he hears it; Wirt _growls_.

Aaand now his thoughts are in the gutter. He tries to shove them away and maintain a professional mindset. Getting caught up isn’t going to achieve what he wants. He’s wrestling back control right now after Wirt’s display earlier, and he needs to be focused if he’s gonna come out on top.

Although, now that he thinks about it, why is he fighting so hard? He’s not sure why this is the direction his thoughts go now of all times. Maybe it’s the nature of this whole situation, and the inherent promise of _later_ he tries to pour into every movement, but they’ve never changed anything before. What they do now works well enough. They just sorta assumed, considering their personalities and everything, that Dipper would be the one to top, and it’s been more than great and all, but maybe he’s starting to think it might be-- _uh_ \-- interesting? The way Wirt was acting earlier, and the look in his eyes now is getting Dipper ten kinds of flustered. Just remembering being towered over like that, and what he said, and the kisses, and the dominance, _and_ being treated like the object of one of those breathtaking poems: crafted with extreme care, but there’s passion behind every stroke. It has him blushing furiously and he even trips. _That’s new._

He straightens, flashing Wirt a grin that he hopes converys something along the lines of “Yep, just keeping you on your toes-- that was 100% intentional.” He’s not exactly saying they have to switch it up, but-maybe-he-might-not-mind seeing Wirt act like that a little more often? The intensity of Wirt’s steady, unwavering attention is melting his insides, making him feel more transparent than glass. It makes him think of walls and how there’s one not far away, and Wirt could stand, and walk him back, and _potentially thrust him up against one_. 

Woah--! Hold on, since fucking when? He’s never thought like that before. _I should be doing the thrusting thank you very much, brain go take a time out._

He normally would never suggest anything, and isn’t sure he wants to, but he wouldn’t be as worried now as he would have been considering Wirt now knows his dark secret. The flexibility he’d acquired over the years has been carefully hidden even in public behind practiced clumsiness. Which, he can be clumsy a lot, that’s not faked, but dropping to a knee to pick something up when he could just bend over backwards, taking a hell of a lot less time and hassle, requires conscious effort to remember sometimes.

And, even then, he’s not saying he’s so good he has to think about not doing things. Actually, he’d give himself maybe a 3/10 on the scale of actual skill. He’s seen the kind of awe inspiring technique on television that some people can do, and doesn’t think of himself as anything special, but he’d admit to having a fleeting thought every once in a while of wanting to show off something, and feeling more than a little disappointed when he remembered _oh right I can’t_. 

Wirt gets to show off his poetry and sweep him off his feet all the time, and the one way he could potentially return the favor happened to be off-limits, until now that is, and it’s nice, okay? It’s just, it’s nice. Nice to be on the receiving end of a borderline possessive look for once and _what’s wrong with that?_

He pours the confusion and frustration at himself for overthinking into his performance. Hips snapping side to side, his chest heaves with growing fatigue and unbridled lust, and he quickens his pace. He tugs harder on his belt loops, the shorts slipping low on his hips; the potential to bare even less ever present. The button on his shorts threatens to pop off-- _wouldn’t that be inconvenient?_ Dipper thinks, running his tongue across the top of his teeth. A little dip forms in the fabric; if fingers were to slip inside, they’d find a hard warmth awaiting, but the dim lighting, and his boxers, shadow just what’s underneath. He twists his other hand--still tangled in his hair--and yanks his head back, exposing his neck. Unmarred, like a blank canvas, in need of a painter; in need of reds and violets. The mixture of the music suggesting a more slow, seductive technique, and the growing intensity and sharpness of his movements should offer a rather interesting visual contrast that he hopes comes across as intended, instead of completely ridiculous.

The music winds down a bit and segues into another song. Dipper figures he's tortured Wirt for long enough, and postponing his real goal will only make him more anxious, so he goes for it, just like ripping off a band-aid. 

Probably the only time in history anyone's ever compared it to something so painful, but what can he say when he's so hyperaware? He can feel every inch of his own skin as if it's coated in electricity, anticipating what he's about to do, Wirt's reaction, hoping that he won't be disappointed.

He strides over to Wirt, gliding like water across pavement. Pavement, not stone, because stone would be smooth but his movement implies more... _friction_. That's the goal, anyway. He stands over Wirt, one of the few times he's done so, and fixes him with a smoldering look, eyebrow raised. Clear about his intentions, but it's an out if he wants one. If he doesn't want to do this, if he's only been humoring him so far, if he wants to pretend none of this ever happened, Dipper's giving him that choice, but once they move on, after this...

He doesn't think he'll be able to stop.

Wirt answers by moving his hands to slowly trail up Dipper's thigh, ending at the hips. His grip turns firm as he pulls Dipper closer.

No, wait, not just closer. Dipper expects him to stop there, letting him take the lead, be completely in control, like he always has before, so he nearly gasps in surprise when gentle, sweet, hesitant Wirt pulls him all the way down onto his lap, leaving no room for misinterpretation.

It’s hard to misinterpret the hardon straining against his boyfriend’s jeans.

He wants this. He _really_ wants this. More than Dipper could have ever hoped for or anticipated. Alright then, they're doing this. 

Dipper intertwines their fingers where Wirt is still gripping him for dear life. Somewhere in the back of his mind he notes the potential for bruises later and _fuck,_ just thinking about Wirt claiming him like that...

He shifts his hips, moving to more comfortably straddle Wirt and the slow, sliding, forceful contact elicits a moan from both of them that Wirt leans to capture with his mouth. 

Dipper smiles into the kiss and grinds downwards. This isn't exactly his forte. He's used to specific, trained, planned movements; he's never danced _onto_ someone before, but if the sounds and greedy roaming hands are any indication, he’s doing a good enough job.

He tries to be forceful, intentional, rough but also light and seductive at the same time. It's a hard line to walk, and speaking of hard, well, _again_ , his earlier fears can't be too well founded because Wirt seems to be enjoying himself. A blush creeps onto his cheeks and Dipper realizes with some embarrassment that he may be the only person to ever blush while achieving the intended effect of a lap dance.

* * *

Dipper is covered in a light sheen of sweat after two dances, skin glistening and mixing with the glitter in a way that keeps Wirt's mouth unable to decide if it wants to become desert or ocean, but Dipper still doesn't seem spent. In fact, if Wirt didn't know any better, he'd suggest that the exertion has energized rather than exhausted him. He's heard of the gods, but didn't ever believe they'd mix with mortals, until this moment. Perhaps Adonis has returned to Earth to find another poet to enrapture in order to tell his story-- if so, Wirt will make it the greatest one ever written, using the inspiration that’s been so benevolently bestowed upon him.

Wirt spends the next several minutes, eternities in his eyes, trying to pinpoint what exactly Dipper reminds him of in the second dance. His movements are just so _different_ this time around. Wirt has been planning to worship the ground he stands on since the first moment, but this seems different. With Mabel it was planned and centered on emphasizing the talents of one another, but now, alone, his own quirks and style are free to shine. Wirt goes back into his mind to review the patterns, shifts, interpretations, and emotions behind every step. Just like that, it clicks.

Dipper becomes flame when he dances.

In an instant, just like that, all that nervous energy is gone, and with nowhere else to go, it bursts out as light. He bends and twists without any care or regard for gravity, because such a mundane force would be hard pressed to affect something made purely of energy and passion. What's even more interesting is that this side, this new, very interesting side of him that Wirt is finally, thankfully, allowed to see doesn't feel surprising when he considers it for long enough. It feels... _right_.

Dipper has always been made of stubborn determination, and a fierce passion for what or who he cares about. It makes sense, then, that it would emerge in the most intense of ways. Wirt has always had his poetry as an outlet. He's always used words to express his emotions, but for someone like Dipper, words could never be satisfying. Wirt is content to observe, to make statements about the things around him. He is more like the impersonal moon, always watching and observing, but never having much of an effect-- but the sun? That's Dipper's domain.

The sun is pure energy. A ball of blazing light that brings life. Energy is simply the potential to cause change, and Dipper is nothing if not that. He seeks to change the things around him to become something entirely new, better, and it's no different in his dances. The movements themselves fill Wirt with the realization of a change coming about in his own soul, borne of the sights in front of him, but he doesn't realize until it's too late to stop.

Dipper has finished up the final flurry of twists, turns, and acrobatic feats that have Wirt's head spinning, and stops. The music slows down, dimming into nonexistence, but Dipper clearly isn't done. Music slowly shifts into something slower, and Dipper does as well. A new light enters his eyes in that moment, something hesitant, but assured. Something he clearly wants, but isn't sure of how it will be received. This is all contained within his eyes, leaving his legs-- ones that Wirt still can't stop staring at because, while he'd seen them before, there's so much _more_ now, and each muscle is sculpted in a way Donatello would have slaughtered to capture in his own sculpture.

Those legs come closer and Wirt can't help himself, he has to touch, and he does. He moves his hands slowly, always wanting to make sure Dipper's okay before doing anything at all, but even the idea of initiating touch without saying a word is his first signal something has shifted. The second is far less subtle; one second he's trailing a hand up Dipper's skin, admiring the tight muscle underneath, and in the next he’s grabbing and yanking him downwards, filled with a need to feel those legs wrapped around him. His hands are digging in way too tight, but when his mind whispers something about bruises, rather than backing down, he only feels a need to dig in more. 

_What the hell?_

Before he can contemplate the implications of such divergent thoughts, Dipper is sliding against him, brushing his hardness against the front of Wirt’s own, and he has to press his mouth messily onto his with an embarrassing, desperate need. 

It’s like he’s blind. Wirt needs to touch, to feel _everything_ , and Dipper is burning him from the inside and out.

His hands slide up Dipper’s chest, feeling the contours of his abs, dancing across damp skin that’s sticky with glitter and sweat. Dipper’s stomach muscles tense at the touch-- _burning. Everything is burning._ He climbs even higher, fingers flicking over Dipper’s nipples; at first just a graze, but then he’s pressing the pads of his thumbs harder, until they’re solid under his touch, and the noise his boyfriend makes is-- _Fire. Catching Fire._

Dipper grinds his hips down, their desires building-- brushing-- _intermingling_ as the music swirls; a soundtrack to their mounting pleasure. He arches his back, lower lower _lower_ \-- and then he’s curling back up, and wrapping his arms around Wirt’s neck, keeping him close, as Wirt teases him with those clever fingers. _Wirt’s catching on to the power his touch has over him._

Every touch, every point of contact is searing, but emotionally… Just _thinking_ about Dipper is burning him alive. He is making these slight little, typically unnoticed movements, small feats of flexibility, and Wirt once again feels like an idiot for not noticing or asking or _something_ earlier. _Why does he have to be so unobservant?_ Once again he’s reminded that Dipper is obviously well versed in this, self-assured… 

Which, _wait a minute_ , hey there’s a thought. W-who has he been practicing with? This seems to be about showing Wirt a side of him he’d kept hidden, but if it’d been hidden from Wirt then how has he so refined these _specific_ skills?

Wirt's mind goes from hazy with desire and awe for the man in from of him, to overtaken with a fierce, intense need to show Dipper just exactly what he thinks about him doing this with someone-- 

He flicks his thumbs harder against Dipper’s nipples, nails grazing the sensitive skin; a little kerosene to fuel Dipper’s flames. Dipper makes a sharp keening noise in the back of his throat, head jolting up at the sensation--Wirt isn’t usually so... _rough;_ it certainly catches him off guard. 

Wirt uses Dipper’s silent considerations to his advantage; pressing his mouth against Dipper’s clavicle, searing kisses up his neck. Dipper’s neck has always been overly sensitive; the moment Wirt’s mouth brushes his skin, Dipper’s voice is this desperate mix of giggling and moaning--it doesn’t know what it wants to do, and so it does both. He twists his fingers in Wirt’s hair, unsure if he wants to pull Wirt’s head away, or bring his mouth closer. He tries to focus instead on his hips, which are stuttering from Wirt’s ministrations. _Control. Control. Get yourself back in con...trol..._ He rocks his hips low and hard, his shorts unbelievably tight--borderline painful--as he dances on Wirt. As he feels Wirt’s dick sliding against the curve of his ass. Even with the layer of clothing between them, just the thought of Wirt pressing against him, unrestrained, is enough to--

_Control...control...he’s losing control..._

It’s not only the idea of someone else, but he’d been so sure earlier that Dipper hadn’t shown this to anyone, and he'd been touched-- honored to be shown this. He now realizes that must have been completely unfounded because this can’t possibly be his first attempt, not when he’s so _perfect_ at it.

Before he can stop himself, he’s opening his mouth, and sinking down--like a viper striking its prey.

Dipper gasps, body twitching in excitement, the sting of Wirt’s teeth sending any remaining blood in his head shooting south. “Wi-wirt!”

Wirt’s hands drop to grip Dipper’s thighs again, finger’s digging into soft, but firm, flesh. _Burning. It’s on fire. Wirt’s an inferno--hot, angry, ravaging._ He finds himself pulling Dipper’s legs much-- _much_ tighter around him, and growls into Dipper’s neck, a noise he never would have thought _could_ \-- let alone ever _would_ come from him. But the thought of Dipper and someone else doing _this_ specifically-- 

  
He grabs Dipper around the waist and shoulders, flipping their positions. He slams Dipper onto the sofa cushions, a little more forceful than necessary. Dipper bounces against the springs, once, before lying flat, staring up at the ceiling in dazed bewilderment. Dizzy isn’t the word he would describe--he can’t begin to describe his racing heart, his sweating palms, his shaking legs. He can’t begin to describe what he’s feeling, not until Wirt is sliding between his legs, spreading him open, not until Wirt is hooking the back of Dipper’s knee and pulling it up against his hip, not until Wirt’s knee is grinding against his perineum, igniting fire low in his groin, in a place that he’s never been touched before. Never considered until Wirt--- _Wirt! Holy shit, Wirt._ Not until Wirt is leaning down, and all he sees is dark gray eyes, and furrowed brows, and barred teeth, _and_ burning possession. Dipper doesn’t know a lot about poetry, the ins and outs of how to describe emotions like this, but he does know about history, particularly things that are unexplained or disputed, and in this moment he knows why Troy fell.

Pure, concentrated, _uncontrolled_ desire; a lack of restraint, a lapse in reasonable judgement. Normally people wouldn’t start an entire war, put people in danger, raze an entire city, which is why Dipper always filed that event under the ‘probably didn’t happen’ heading, but now… The look in Wirt’s eyes seriously suggests the possibility of him being entirely onboard with ~~_getting wrecked_~~ wrecking a city.

As for Wirt, he doesn’t think much; it’s hard thinking when everything feels primal and animalistic and _hot, hot, hot!!!_ Words come easy to him, poetry flowing off his tongue like a second language. But poetry isn’t what’s dripping from his tongue--there are no words--words are gone, and dead! All Wirt has is his body-- his body, and Dipper’s body underneath him, and he wants that body _underneath him!_ He grinds his hips down into Dipper’s; Dipper opens his mouth, ready to moan, and he darts his tongue right in Dipper’s mouth, stealing the noises for himself-- _only himself._ Dipper is now completely at _his_ mercy. 

He's starting to understand the appeal. The appeal of staring down, using a height to his advantage that has always only served to be useless, and knowing that Dipper trusts him enough to let him do this. He pulls away from the kiss, a silver string connecting them to one another; it breaks, and falls, shimmering against Dipper’s kiss-swollen lips. He hasn't made a single indication of protest, and _in fact,_ seems to be staring with eyes fully blown, jaw dropped, curiosity and questions swirling within them, filled with the same kind of emotions Wirt has been experiencing this entire time. 

_Good. Time for him to be the one coming undone under_ my _hands._

He takes a handful of chocolate brown curls and tugs Dipper’s head back. He pounces; biting, sucking, kissing-- marking that pretty sunkissed skin. 

_Mine. Mine. Mine. You’re mine!_

“Mi..”

Dipper’s head is clouded, hyper sensitive to his neck being eaten like this. He almost doesn’t catch the words that are tumbling out Wirt’s mouth.

“Mi...ne... _Mine_ …” The hand under Dipper’s knee clenches, pulling him higher; Dipper’s crotch slides between the leg that’s spreading him open, eliciting sharp sparks of pleasure as his shorts beg for freedom. 

_“Mine...mine…”_

_Mine?_ Dipper fights to think through the arousal that one word causes. He doesn’t even hesitate before giggling and responding, “Of course I’m yours, dummy, who else would be allowed to do this?”

Wirt doesn’t pause, speaking in between. “Not sure... never know... With how fluid you moved… like starlight... perfect, completely irresistible... I thought... you seem to know what you’re doing...”

Dipper laughs and threads a hand through Wirt’s hair, gently, coming around to hold his face, and he kisses along his jawline. “No Wirt, no, there’s no one else, never will be. I-- This is a hobby; a weird hobby, a dumb one, and I’ve had partners for a routine or two, but never _this_ , never like this. Dancing, Wirt, it’s, it helps me focus, lets out some nervous energy, and, weirdly enough, has helped me in a few fights, but I didn’t even-- _don’t_ know how to do this. I’m just as lost as you, and I never knew I _could_ , let alone would _want_ \--” Dipper keeps his mouth occupied with kissing, hoping to not have to--

“Want what?”

_Damnnit._ He pulls back and takes a steadying breath. “To be with you, _like this_.”

“What do you mean? You always have me.”

“No but I-- I’ve never been like this, open, _vulnerable_ with you. We’ve shared a lot and that’s wonderful, really, but this... Revealing this, such a big part of who I am, to _you_ , a part that I’m not very proud of. Letting you see me, just _me_. No cover, nowhere to hide, no excuses, no nothing, completely at your mercy. There’s nowhere I can go. The cat’s out of the bag now! You can’t unsee it. I can’t take this away, it’s there, it’ll always exist whether I change my mind or not, whether you hate this or not. Trusting you with this makes me dizzy, Wirt, and confused as hell.” 

He’s rambling and babbling and he’s still so hot from both the dancing and recent developments and _flustered_ and Wirt is still standing over him in that way and _he’s never been like this_ . It’s so embarrassing and it’s too much, but he wants comfort right now, wants to share his jumbled feelings, so he defaults to imitating ~~what~~ _who_ he loves most, the one who makes him feel safe. “It’s-- I’m standing on the edge of this precipice, right? About to jump off, and I just threw off my damn parachute with nothing, nothing but your arms and my belief in you to save me. It’s-- I feel exposed-- and what if you don’t jump with me? What if this doesn’t work, what if--” 

He laughs. “And you know what the craziest thing about it is? I don’t hate it, not at all. Not like I thought I would. I understand why people skydive for fun if it’s like this. It’s like hunting a monster; sometimes things happen that you don’t expect, and you have to improvise, and sometimes that improvisation changes you, especially in ways you don’t expect. I sure as fuck didn’t expect _this_.”

“Expect what?” 

Dipper gnaws on his lip, considering. He’s always supposed to be in control, always. No matter what, but he isn’t right now, and the feeling is exhilarating and he wants-- _he wants Wirt to take control._

“I uh I think I might I want--” He takes a breath, heart pounding in his ears. “I want you inside me, I want-- I want you to take over. I want you to make me feel like one of your poems. I want to consume your attention, your focus, and be filled with your affection. Wirt, you always treat me like that, but I wanna know what happens when I follow this vulnerability. I want to give you _control._ All of it, without reservation... Can I--” He swallows, unsure, stalling. “Can I trust you with that?”

Wirt is speechless, a feeling that’s becoming uncomfortably familiar, but he is able to nod, attempting to fill it with all the passion he’d normally put into words. _Dipper wants him to--_ His thoughts had already been heading that direction, anyways, but he didn’t expect Dipper to agree. He’s touched, honored to be someone worthy of Dipper’s trust. To gain something like that… To have someone so giving, take the one thing they usually wouldn’t part with, and trust _you_ with it. 

Dipper isn’t the most open person, so if he’s being like this, if he’s wanting this-- Wirt knows he doesn’t want to screw it up. He wants to prove himself, be deserving of the gift he’s just received. Dipper’s confession, _confirmation_ seems to be the last thing he needed, the final barrier is now broken and everything comes crashing in.

Dipper’s still waiting on an answer, a verbal one from someone who usually has so many words to say, always a whole dimension’s worth at his disposal, but now it’s gone. Dipper wants to consume his attention? He already did, the second he walked through that door, not the one a second ago, the one years ago. The minute they met, Wirt knew this guy… Well, he was gonna keep him if he could. Now, he’s never said that, it’s weird and possessive and _he’s not in control_ , he’s _never_ in control. Wirt follows Dipper’s lead, always has, he’s kept the little musings to himself. Those quiet impulsive thoughts he never really paid any mind to, just ideas, nothing more, nothing he actually wanted… 

But apparently he had wanted, and now Dipper is giving him a shot, a chance, to not only prove that he deserves this but that he _can_ do this. He has a line to walk, on one hand to be completely attentive to Dipper, ask him what he wants, what he _needs_ and give it to him. On the other, he needs to show _control._ Dipper has always loved seeing how hard you can push something until it breaks, part of his inquisitive nature, a research technique, but Wirt knows that with _this,_ it means he wants to see just how vulnerable he can get without feeling unsafe, and he trusts Wirt to recognize when it’s far enough and to remain a step below that.

“Always-- You can trust me, Dipper, if I ever hurt you… Well, you wouldn’t need to do anything because I’d already be throwing myself off the nearest high object.” He drops his voice to a whisper and tries to pour all the love and sincerity he’s feeling into it. “ _Thank you_ for letting me have this, for letting me see you, hear you, _feel_ you like this.” His eyes harden with steely resolve and he presses a hard, passionate kiss to Dipper’s lips. “I won’t let you down.”

Wirt takes a second to remind himself that Dipper wants this, he asked for this. He wasn’t cautious about it either, he said he wanted Wirt in _control;_ he could have used a million other, less encompassing terms, but he chose that one and Wirt wants to deliver on that. He has a few things he wants actually, and sees an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. He can redeem that, uh, _promise_ from earlier-- oh no he hadn’t forgotten, it remained, anticipation and longing burning a hole in his mind-- and he can show Dipper just how much _control_ he can demonstrate, all at once. He tries to tap into that part of him from earlier, from when he was towering over Dipper and reeling from the dance. It’s not hard to get there with Dipper spread under him the way he is.

“I remember you promising me something earlier, and now I don’t know if I’ve really earned it, but I’ve tried, and effort is worth something, right? And uh--” He tries to keep down the blush, the embarrassment, the apprehension. _Control, Dipper wants control, take control._ “I was thinking that you could put that mouth of yours to better use, don’t you think? This is great and all, but uh I was promised the exclusive Dipper Pines Popsicle Experience™.”

Dipper tries to stay serious, in the moment, he really does, but the hand he brings up to cover his mouth isn’t quick enough and he’s laughing. Full on, this-is-the-funniest-shit-I’ve-ever-heard, cracking up. Exposed as he is, Wirt can even see his muscles tensing and untensing as Dipper laughs at him. Okay, alright, he’ll admit to it not being the smoothest thing ever, but this is nearly the opposite response to what he’d wanted. He’s doing his best!

Dipper wants him to take control? To be assertive? He’ll show him assertive, and he won’t even need words or poetry to do it! 

Wirt adjusts, sliding a bit higher until he and Dipper aren’t quite face to face anymore, so that he has to bend a bit -- his acrobatic skills aren’t what Dipper’s are _apparently_ but he can do this. He stares Dipper dead in the eyes, eyes still filled with delight and mirth _at his expense_ and without even blinking, Wirt traces his thumb across Dipper’s lips which are still parted while laughing. He doesn’t give himself the time to hesitate, to reconsider. He slides it inside and _tugs_. 

Wirt has never seen anyone go from so loud to so silent like this, the reaction is instantaneous. His eyes go from scrunched in laughter, to wide and fully blown, and his mouth moves to accommodate Wirt’s finger even if he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. It may just be a by-product of no longer laughing, but _damn_ if it doesn’t fit like it belongs there. Wirt can feel the tables flip once again as his attention is fully diverted to watching Dipper, waiting to see how he responds, what exactly he’s going to do with his thumb, if maybe he’ll be kind enough to replace it. 

Dipper swallows, more from the nerves than anything, an anxious habit, very common, but he’s _completely forgetting that there’s a--_ Wirt’s eyes go just as blown as his. Dipper circles his tongue around the finger before pulling away, raking his teeth lightly across as he does so.

He sees the mischievous smirk tugging at Dipper’s lips; Dipper is always quick with a retort. And Wirt usually loves his boyfriend’s sass--even if he pretends he doesn’t. But Wirt knows that Dipper is struggling with control--with being vulnerable. He’s masking his fear, his need to let go with a sassy comeback. Wirt’s never had a problem being vulnerable, even now he doesn’t. But for Dipper--this is a lot to handle, and Wirt needs to show him that it’s okay. It’s okay to let his body enjoy this. 

He grabs the back of Dipper’s shorts, and hikes his hips up, til Dipper is grinding hard against his thigh. And when Dipper moans, breathless, he sticks his tongue right down Dipper’s throat, claiming his noises again. 

“Mmmhgh---Mmmmm~”

Wirt pulls away with a pop. He stares down at his lover, the dimmed lighting of the living room making his eyes dark-- endless.

_Control...Control...take control…_

_Show him it’s okay to lose control…_

_Show him you can do this._

“That’s what I want. So pretty. You look so pretty like that. All glitter and gold--all starshine and wonder. Spread below me-- so willing, so patient. I adore you.”

“Hah...ah...W-wirt…”

_Passionate. Dominant. ...Let’s try this again._

“You must be thirsty, after all that beautiful dancing? I bet you’re looking for a treat. You promised if I watched you, you’d suck me good, like a summer treat-- and I did, I couldn’t keep my eyes off you. I still can’t look away; when you’re embers, and I--a moth to your flame. But I’ve been good, or maybe I haven’t? I don’t really know--I don’t really _fucking_ care--cause I’m know _you_ want it, don’t you? You’re desperate for it? I want to see that pretty mouth of yours wrapped around me; Let me stain your tongue, sticky sweet. Make me fall in love, _California boy._ ”

Wirt drops Dipper’s leg, which falls limply against the side of the couch. He looks down, taking in the sight of his gorgeous, sinful boyfriend. A moment to just admire him.

Spread wantonly, glitter glistening over his body-- making him shine like the milky way galaxy. A smattering of stars and cosmos all perfectly displayed for him--freckles and glitter and hickies and--it’s all just for him. Dipper’s bangs flutter out, and Wirt catches the tail end of his favorite constellation; he pushes back Dipper’s bangs, running his thumb gently over his birthmark.

  
  
Dipper leans into his touch, “Mmmm, _Wirt_.”

Wirt’s eyes trace him from head to toe, helpless. Hopeless. Devoted.

His eyes land on Dipper’s shorts. The poor thing is straining against the material, his excitement apparent. Something shifts in Wirt’s mind. “You must be hurting, all that blood trapped down there. I bet you want them off, don’t you?”

Dipper nods eagerly. _Oh god does he want them off!_ He’s about to reach for clasp, when Wirt’s hands gently, but firmly, push them down again. Dipper arches his brow in surprise.

Wirt’s staring at him, thoughtfully. He’s thinking hard. For a moment, doubt clouds his eyes...but he closes them, inhales slowly, and when they open again, there’s a naughty determination that Dipper’s never seen. That makes his stomach flip in anticipation. 

“...how much do you like these shorts?”

“Uhhh...wha? I mean...Mabel bought me these a couple days ago, so like I’m not attached to th--”

“Good.” Wirt grabs his shorts, and yanks.

_The button pops off_.

“Wirt, hey what are you--?!” 

_Riiiiiiiiippppp._

“... _oh_...Oh my god...”

Wirt lets go of the now tattered shorts, his mouth curling wickedly. “That feels better, doesn’t it, Kitten?”

Weirdly enough, _that’s_ the thing that catches Dipper off guard, well, no, all of it did, but where the hell did ‘kitten’ come from? His **mind** starts screaming in righteous indignation. He hates being called adorable or anything even slightly similar to it, but he realizes near instantly that it’s not his _real_ reaction. It’s the predetermined expectation, what he thinks he _should_ be, not what he is, and today seems very much like a day for going against that. 

Right now, he’s very, weirdly in touch with what he _wants_ , not what he _has_ to be or how he wants to be seen. He’s not the strong, brave adventurer or insatiable researcher now. In this moment, Dipper Pines is just a guy, a dancer, nothing special and without expectation. He’s someone spending the day with his boyfriend being vulnerable and dumb and experimental and allowing himself to trust, to be taken care of. No one is here, just Wirt and him; someone he trusts more than anything else, more than reality itself, and someone he just lowered his guard damn near as far as it'll go with, and… _fine._

He’ll admit that the similarities are there. Fiercely independent and seemingly uncaring until you get 'em behind the ears with scritches, then they’re completely docile and needy as hell. Although, Dipper’s weakness seems to just come in the form of Wirt’s general existence instead of scritches… He smiles fondly. Wirt’s always had a way with words, sharp as hell too, even if so few realize it-- including Wirt himself, but he managed to make the connection much faster than Dipper did. Warmth fills him at the thought, his wonderfully articulate poet, always finding those connections, those links between everything. Knowing him, though, the minute he realizes what he’s said and thinks on how much Dipper normally hates stuff like that he’ll backpedal and second guess it, and Dipper will never get to hear it again… 

He’s startled at the sheer amount of distress that consumes him thinking that way. Why does he like it so much? It’s so different and interesting, but it fits in this situation and he really likes it. He likes the image of being small and cute, but fierce and demanding all at once. It’s who he is, deep down, buried beneath all the anxieties and societal expectations, Dipper finds himself enjoying that smallness, softness, tempered by the ability to strike back if need be. He wants Wirt to dote on him affectionately and loom over him again, but how can he signal that he enjoys it? That he actually enjoys it _way_ too much and needs to show it somehow... and _oh no._ He'll be more than embarrassed later, but for now-- He lets his eyes lazily fall to half-mast and gets as close as he can to purring, contentedly.

Wirt blinks in shock. Is Dipper-- Oh, yeah okay so no hope that he missed Wirt’s slip of the tongue, then, but he doesn’t seem to be upset? Normally Dipper would be fighting such a statement with everything in him, but now he’s just-- he’s-- Wirt can’t do much more than stare in shock. He looks just like a kitten, all tiny and purring and leaning ever so slightly into his touches. He smothers the laugh bubbling within him at the display, he can’t lose this, and if Dipper wants it, then he’ll keep doing it. Dipper still never answered his question though and he pushes the new revelations aside in favor of tilting his head. “Well?”

Dipper nods, dumbly. _Oh my god, everything is just...oh my god!_ This is all new, and scary, and unexpectedly exciting.

Wirt is riding some adrenaline high, encouraged by Dipper’s glazed expression, and that Cheshire reaction to his new “pet” name. Before he can regret, before he can think about what he’s done, and why he’s done it, he bunches the elastic of Dipper’s boxers between his fingers. “And these?”

“Fu-- Y-yes-! Please--”

_Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiippp_

Dipper head falls back against the cushions, panting. The cold air on his hot cock, his suddenly free cock, leaves him speechless.

Now, Wirt can admire everything. And gosh, what a beautiful sight. Dipper’s is flushing red, right down to his chest. And he’s dripping, the beads of percum adding to the metaphor of stars in the sky and whatnot--

_Oh, this is fun._

Dipper stutters, “I--you---where did you…?” 

He slides his body until his crotch is directly in front of Dipper’s face. He pops the button of his jeans, a shiver of delight running down his spine when Dipper whimpers.

“No more talking.” 

Not like Dipper would be able to anyway. He’s been rendered completely speechless by the person above him. He’s even more surprised by the anticipation building inside of him. He knows, he has an inkling at least that he wants this, had just asked for it, but this is more than just being vulnerable. It’s about opening up to Wirt completely in the same way that he did with the dances, but even more so. He’s apprehensive, unsure, not quite certain about the specifics. He talked boldly, and he does _want_ \--and he knows he _loves_ seeing Wirt like this, way more than he should, but what if bottoming just isn’t his thing? 

What if… Well, what if he hates it? No big deal, they’ll go back to normal and it’ll be fine. He won't mind a not-so-great experience, so no he’s not worried about that, but what if…. What if _Wirt_ hates it? What if he-- Wirt has already shown an inclination to wanting this and what if Dipper ruins it for him? Worse even, what if Dipper likes it and Wirt doesn’t? He could deal with not doing this again, but the guilt would consume him. He’d be the captain on a sinking ship watching the product of his hubris.

He pushes the insecurities away with a fierce determination. Fuck that, he knows exactly how to fix it, he’s gonna be the best bottom there ever was and with Wirt acting this way? He can’t be too bad already… right?

A hand tucks a curl back behind his ear; a thumb strokes his cheek; Dipper’s attention is drawn back to the man above him. “Don’t be nervous; I promise it’ll be okay. You’re going to be just fine-- I’m right here.” Wirt reaches back and grabs Dipper’s hand, interlocking their fingers. “If you get nervous--if you get scared--tap three times against my knuckles--index, middle and ring, in that order. That will let me know we need to stop. Okay?” He squeezes Dipper’s hand, comforting; a promise of trust. “Can you do that right now for me?”

Dipper taps Wirt’s knuckles--index, middle, ring. Wirt smiles, “Such a good boy. Such a good listener. No wonder you’re the best dancer in your class.”

  
  
Dipper looks away, cheeks hot. “I-I’m not the best dan--”

  
  
Wirt pulls down the zipper of his jeans, the sound snapping Dipper’s eyes back to him. With a naughty chuckle, he reaches in and pulls out his cock, hard and dripping precum. Right over Dipper’s face.

  
  
Dipper is rendered speechless, once more.

A bead of precum drops onto Dipper’s bottom lip; he swipes his tongue over it, savoring the faint bitter, yet addicting, taste. His eyes are dark, pupils blown to the point that there’s only a sliver of hazel in his eyes. He’s starving--desperate for more.

“Say _ahhh_ ~” Wirt singsongs, his voice dripping like honey. His eyes though--his eyes are like molten lava; melting. Melting. _Dipper’s insides are melting as he opens his mouth, and swallows Wirt down._

Wirt throws his head back, moaning wantonly. He’s familiar with Dipper’s mouth around him; he could never tire of that tongue flicking against his slit, that warm, wet heat enveloping him. “Mmmm~ That’s it. Just like that! God, you’re amazing! Perfect body, perfect legs, perfect mouth, perfect _everything_ . _You’re my perfect tiny dancer._ ” He rocks his hips slowly.  
  


Ah add a new exhibit to the ‘Dipper now has a thing for slanderous pet names’ shrine. _Tiny Dancer_ . A fond warmth, separate from the burning flames of passion, spreads a bit further throughout his chest. Here he is after trying to hide this part of himself for so long, adoring this new title. It’s again, that idea of being small, especially compared to Wirt. It’s being someone who is going to be taken care of and being Wirt’s this time: mind, body, and soul. Everything he is and has ever been, on display. A reminder of what he’d just shared, of the trust he’s still giving. Wirt seems happy enough to use that to his advantage, but somehow in a completely selfless way. Every slight inch Dipper gives him is being taken for a mile, but slowly and with questions of ‘is this okay?’ and with constant supervision, just like something tiny would need, and he’s _loving every second of it_.

Dipper moans: the weight on his tongue, the gentle rocking of Wirt’s hips as he fills more of Dipper’s mouth with himself, the gentle pressure against his cheek--all of it is sending waves of pleasure through his whole body. Feeling the tattered shorts still around his thighs, the loose fabric clinging desperately to his sweat soaked skin, even though there’s no hope of salvaging them-- skin cold in some spots, and hot in others-- heightens his desire. His cock begs to be touched; his own precum dribbling into the curls of his pubic hair. He curls his hand around his aching length, starting to stroke.

  
  
Wirt notices Dipper’s arm tensing, the barest hint of movement--he looks over his shoulder. With a mischievous smirk, he uses his free hand and slaps Dipper’s hand away, “Ah-ah-ah! No you don’t, beautiful.”

Dipper whines, lips stretching around Wirt’s cock. The word ‘beautiful’ sends a weird tingle between his legs. Low, low-- _deep below the molten center that is melting his insides_. It’s making him want to be treasured. Cherished. _...Ruined._

_Bury him in the ashes of his desperation._

The vibrations give Wirt a moment of pause--a sharp inhale of breath.

  
  
He tries not to giggle at Dipper’s pleading eyes. His mouth might be full, but Wirt can’t mistake that pouty expression for anything. _Control. Control._

“You’re had enough fun already. Teasing me with those perfect hips. Now you’re going to be a good boy, you’re going to be patient. The only thing you should be focusing on is that mouth of yours--”

Dipper huffs through his nose. With a bit of bite left in him, he hollows his cheeks and sucks.

  
  
Wirt squeezes Dipper hand, the other bunching the fabric of his sweater. “MMmm, ffuu--Dipper. You...you! Beautiful! Naughty! Wicked! You want to wreck me, don’t you? Want to tear me down to sinews--to my barest components. Still want to take and take and take. Greedy--my greedy kitten! It’s my turn. How’s about this, then?”

  
  
He thrusts his hips, Dipper gagging as he feels Wirt’s cockhead hit the back of his throat. His legs spasm, his shoes grinding into the seat cushions, trying to find purchase, a way to ground himself. His eyes roll back into his skull. _He’s falling--fast and hard--and he’s scared for the impact. But...but--_ and here’s the part- _-he wants to collide._ He wants to feel it coming undone around him, wants to fall apart, wants to feel the impact that comes with letting go.

_He knows Wirt will catch him if it becomes too much._

Sure enough: “Satisfied? Was that good? Do you want more? Squeeze once for yes, twice for no.”

  
  
Dipper squeezes once.

  
  
Relief fills his eyes. It was a risky move; he might have hurt Dipper--he might have ruined the moment with something unexpected like that. This is new territory to him, and while he’s eager to explore what that means; Dipper safety, his comfort, outweighs anything else. He’s thankful that-- so far-- he’s been getting it right. “Then you better behave. I only reward good boyfriends,” Wirt playfully threatens, trying to reign that confidence back. 

Dipper closes his eyes, trying to let his body unwind. _He can be good. Good…_ His leaking cock protests the situation. But there’s something about the strain, the being told he’s not allowed to touch that churns the molten: swirling, bubbling-- _building_.

It’s Wirt’s next words that really do him in: “I promise, I’ll take care of you afterwards. I’ll give you back all the love you’ve given me. I’ll make all that waiting worth it, so just be good for me. _And I’ll be good to you._ ”

His throat loosens, and Wirt starts making shallow little thrusts to reward him. It’s nothing like the first time--it doesn’t hit the back of his throat; not yet. But it’s the slow adjustment, the buildup, that makes this all the more delicious. 

“There we go. That’s my pretty kitten. So good. So good. You’re taking me nice and good. Your mouth is so pretty. I love that gorgeous mouth. So clever, so sharp; you set fire to my insides with that voice. The way you speak, the way you sing, the way you gush when you’re excited, the way you tease--it’s all so beautiful. And when you’re sucking me like this--like I’m the only one who deserves you, I fall in love all over again.”

Dipper’s eyes flutter shut, moaning desperately as he feels Wirt thrusting deeper and deeper--but still at an irritatingly slow pace. He squirms under Wirt’s weight, pretty sure he’s ripping the stitching on the couch cushions as his shoes scarpe about. He digs his nails into the back of Wirt’s hand.

“You want me to go faster, huh?”

  
  
Dipper practically strangles Wirt’s hand.

Wirt laughter is tethered by the slight pain of Dipper’s grip. “Oh--okay! Okay!” When Dipper finally eases up, he brushes back Dipper’s bangs, grinning like a love sick fool as he smears the glitter across Dipper’s forehead, making his favorite constellations--his Dipper-- _shine_ . “Even bottoming you’re impatient. But damn if I don’t love your greedy little heart. I want to give you everything--I’ll give you everything. Whatever you desire--whatever makes you happy. It’s yours. You’re being so good. So fff-ucking good. My pretty, _tiny dancer_.”

Dipper sucks sloppily, as Wirt’s hips move with more motivation. Drool pools in the corners of his smile, dripping down his cheeks. That’s not the only thing dripping; Wirt’s precum is sliding over his tongue, down his throat, and the more he sucks-- the more he swallows around him-- the more Wirt fucks his mouth with increasing vigor, the more of that sticky taste stains his taste buds.

Wirt can feel his hips stuttering out of tempo. His own desire is building, blinding. “Beautiful, oh! You’re so beautiful. So good. That perfect mouth--perfect everything. You’re pe-perfect! Perfect! Ah! Ahn!” He tangles his free hand in Dipper’s hair, tight, holding the boy’s head in place to fuck him deep.

  
  
Dipper gags and gurgles as Wirt’s composure starts falling apart; he knows what that means. Wirt’s close. Dipper doesn’t know if he should try to stop him--not because he wants to stop. Quite the opposite, he doesn’t want to stop. He wants to keep going--he wants to go further. But Wirt’s finally going hard; he’s finally hitting the back of his throat again, and Dipper is enjoying this feeling way more than he will admit out loud.

_Good thing his mouth is occupied._

“A-are you? Are you still okay? Am-ah!--am I hurting you?”

  
  
Dipper squeezes once for the first question, once for the second, and then two quick squeezes for the last. Though, it might be confusing to decipher all that in the heat of the moment, so he emphasizes his enthusiasm by hollowing his cheeks, creating a loud slurping noise that makes the both of them blush.

“Dir-dirty! You’re so...oh~ You’re a mess. You’re making me a mess. We’re both delicious messes, aren’t we? I--I love you. _I love you_.”

  
  
Dipper moans. He’s not allowed to touch himself, but that doesn’t mean he can’t touch Wirt. He cups his boyfriend’s cheek, his own, non verbal reply. 

_I love you too._

Wirt smiles, and the look between them--it’s too intimate to describe. It’s something only they can share--that’s for their eyes only.

Dipper flicks his tongue up, rubbing hard against the veins under Wirt’s cock.

Wirt concentration is broken. A breathy exhale, his shoulders hunch over his ears as he feels his limit stretching thin. “I’m...I’m--I’m not going to last much longer.” He swallows, setting his brow and giving Dipper a look that is pure _volcanic,_ “I want you to swallow it all. I know you can handle it; I know you want it too. Want me to stain that tongue. The way you savor popsicles is the way you’re going to savor me. I’m going to give you your summer reward, my tiny dancer.” 

Dipper’s squeezes tightly and moans, his throat sending vibrations all across Wirt’s cock--expressing his approval. His other hand falls to clutch Wirt’s sweater. He yanks, trying to pull Wirt closer, trying to have him as close as possible. He bobs his head back and forth, meeting Wirt’s thrust with the same level of passion.

_Get inside me. Get inside me! Fuck my insides!_ His legs twitch and writhe beneath him, and he’s thankful Wirt is facing him because _oh fuck he’s overflowing_ . He’s overflowing with need--with the need to be filled, the need to be fucked, the need to be _Wirt’s_.

Wirt rides his face--higher--higher-- _higher_ \-- he overflows, until: “Ffffuccck! D-Dipper!” 

With a cry of his name, he thrust one more time-- Dipper nose brushing his pelvis, Wirt’s pubic hair tickling his skin-- and Dipper feels the hot, bitter juices sliding down the back of his throat. Dipper’s eyes roll back into his head as he does exactly as Wirt commands; as he savors every drop. There’s some unpleasant sounding gurgles and grunts, and maybe even a gag--he’s not used to this kind of rough blowjob after all--but he refuses to waste a single drop. 

This is Wirt’s. But now... this is _his._

_This is all for me! Mine! You’re mine! You’re all fucking mine!_

_\--And you’re going to be fucking all of me!_

Wirt inhales slowly, and exhales shakily, riding the last waves of his orgasm. Dipper’s lewd noises certainly draw out those final intentions. “I---I---wow…” A poet, and he’s been rendered speechless. A master of tongues--and he’s tongue tied. Words are...words are hard. “I--wow!”

With careful consideration, he pulls back, his cock sliding from Dipper’s mouth with a wet ‘pop!’ 

Dipper pants under him; he sounds ragged and raspy.

Wirt pets Dipper’s hair, hand trembling through soft curls. Noting the gravelly change in Dipper’s voice, he moves to gently massage Dipper’s throat. He’s still unable to speak, so he hopes this can better convey his affection--his silent ‘are you okay?’ 

That faint, but final squeeze of his hand calms all the butterflies in Wirt’s stomach. 

* * *

It takes a moment for Dipper’s breathing to return to normal, or at least, something resembling the term. The motions in his hair--he mimics it on Wirt’s sweater. That gentle, tender, shaky touch. His eyes flutter as he tries to get his heart to stop thrumming wildly in his chest. It’s impossible; he’s exhilarated. Wirt’s on his tongue, and sitting on top of him, and his insides have all but melted into puddles of molten starlight. If his eyes could reflect his mental state, they’d be stars--or hearts---or _shit. Shit! Whatever! Who fucking knows--it’s all just--shit!_ He’s reeling. He covers his eyes with his hands and breathes deeply, trying to calm the rapid _badum_ of his heart. But no, it’s impossible. It can’t be quelled. It wants more. 

_He wants more. The wetness between his legs, the burning heat sloshing his core to and fro, the thought of Wirt inside him, of Wirt stirring his insides around and around and around--_

_Oh he’s so fucking ready for this!_

He lowers his hands, opening his mouth to beg for more.

He takes in Wirt’s relaxed demeanor as he just breathes, which, there’s nothing new about it, but _this_ time Dipper feels something oddly like disappointment start to creep up from the back of his mind. He’d forgotten, or well, maybe not forgotten, but hadn’t exactly been in a place to think about the fact that doing that was maybe a bad plan. Well, a bad one for future Dipper anyway, and now that present Dipper has become future Dipper, he’s mentally kicking himself. He forgot that Wirt usually only has the energy for one round--one very passionate, very intense round--but one round, nonetheless. The moment he hits his euphoric high, he’s boneless and ready to curl up with a book, or a nap. 

He got, well, maybe not _excited,_ but at least slightly, uh-- maybe looking forward to Wirt being inside him, and he technically was! But not in the way Dipper had been-- I mean _fuck that was great,_ but it wasn’t what he was _really_ anticipating. He starts chewing on his lip while staring at Wirt while the whisper of disappointment starts crawling deeper and further, until he’s tense and wringing his hands together. 

He’s being stupid, completely selfish and idiotic, he knows that, but he let himself get his hopes up. The trust, the opening-up shouldn’t be a one time thing, he _really_ liked it, way more than he would normally allow himself to. Plus, it’s not like there aren’t other days, but _damn you Wirt and your lack of stamina!_ He’s in a certain mindset right now and he’s not sure if these circumstances could ever come about again… The dancing, the revealing of that led into the vulnerability, the openness he suddenly felt comfortable demonstrating--

He’s just about 100% certain that the stars will never align in just the right spot to allow for something like this, again. This was a one time thing, a fluke, a freak occurrence. It’s not like he’s gonna walk up to Wirt one day and just go ‘hey wanna crawl inside me because last time you _fell asleep on me asshole?_ ’ Dipper wanted to test this, chase this, see how this goes while he’s still willing to attempt it, willing to put aside his normal apprehensions and insecurities, and Wirt’s in the same boat. What if a day from now he doesn’t want to do this again? What if he decides yeah dominance isn’t my thing, we tried it but no thanks; what if Dipper never gets another shot at this? He’s breathing heavily again, but this time it has less to do with Wirt but also everything to do with him, and Dipper doesn’t know what to do. His lip is starting to bleed from the harsh attention when he feels the teeth worrying at his bottom lip replaced with another pair of lips overtop, and Dipper immediately leans in, latching onto the familiar comfort in favor of his flawed defense. A pair of arms wrap around him tighter than he can remember them ever being. They part, and Dipper is still thinking of those warm lips when a warm exhale against his ear mutters, “Tell me now, do you have one last dance in you, _Mason_?”


End file.
